


cursed grounds

by skuls



Series: The Haunting of Bly Manor AU [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, The Haunting of Bly Manor AU, basically: what if tma was set on a giant ass estate that's sort of haunted, friends to workplace rivals to friends to mutual piners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29612982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: When there's a lull, Martin speaks up, because he has to, he knows he does, he won't get a better opportunity. He says, "I've got a story," and when they look at him with interest, he adds, "A… a statement, really. It might be hard to hear, but… I think we all need to hear it again."He shifts in his seat, sits up straighter, clears his throat and looks out at the lot of them and begins. "Statement of Martin Blackwood," he says, "regarding the Magnus Institute, and everything that happened there." He takes a breath, hears the familiar words in their familiar cadence rattle through his mind: the Archivist is taking a statement. He says, "Statement begins."--Or: In 1985, after the disappearance of Gertrude Robinson from the reclusive grounds of the Magnus Institute, Jonathan Sims is brought in as a replacement. As he adjusts to the new job, and begins to bond with his new coworkers, the strange happenings on the grounds that the Magnus Institute sits on become harder to ignore.Years later, Martin Blackwood makes a statement.
Relationships: Basira Hussain & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: The Haunting of Bly Manor AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175642
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	cursed grounds

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the beginning of a long AU i have planned. it's based on The Haunting of Bly Manor on netflix. it is not at all necessary to have seen THOBM to read this au -- although if you're into ghost stories and tragic queer romance, i can't recommend it enough. this is more of TMA with some strong THOBM flavoring/plot points, so no prior knowledge is needed. (this is set in the 1980s for no other reason than to be a little closer to THOBM, and also to lean fully into the lo-fi charm of the tape recorders lol.) 
> 
> i'm planning nine individual stories in this AU so as to be able to focus in on specific character story for each story, and to mimic the structure of THOBM. some of them will deal with concurrent/intersecting events. this one is meant as kind of a set up/establishing piece for character relations and future plot points. i've pared down the extremely complex plot and cast of characters in TMA a lot to fit this AU. (turns out adapting a 200 episode podcast to fit into a 9 episode miniseries that's 50% flashbacks is HARD.) 
> 
> for anyone nervous about the kind of ending coming in a long AU taken from two tragic sources like this: without giving away spoilers, i'll say that this does has a happy ending, but it's gonna pay tribute to the sadness of both source materials at the same time. (the happy ending part comes because i am weak and a sap lol.) if anyone wants more spoiler-y detail of what to expect, feel free to dm me on tumblr @ghostbustermelanieking and i'll be glad to explain.
> 
> i've been excited about this AU for a while -- i've had the idea since last october, and i've been writing and planning for almost a month now. the whole idea originated with me going, "wow, it'd be cool if tma's ending for jonmartin resembled thobm's ending -- but i wouldn't want to write an au because i don't think it would transfer well." and then i started thinking about how other characters in TMA resembled characters in THOBM, and a lot of frenzied thinking later, here we are. 
> 
> content warnings for this chapter include: some references to a disappearance/speculation about a murder, reference to a child kidnapping (the callum brodie situation in TMA), canon-typical discussion/depiction of loneliness, and some canon-typical spooky scenes. full credit for any plot points lifted from either TMA or Bly Manor go to the creators; i'm just moving things around a bit.

**1992**

_The others have been talking for a long time. Swapping spooky stories, of all things—even without fully remembering what happened, they must have plenty, especially with the radio show in the mix. It's just them now, the other guests having trickled upstairs, and for a moment, it almost resembles old times. (Or it would, if all of them were there.) Martin's mostly been listening quietly, staring down at his hands and trying not to think about everything that happened, and everything he knows._

_It's impossible, of course. He never goes long without thinking about it. His eyes keep moving to the mirror on the back wall, to his own reflection—never something he liked to linger on, but that was before. He keeps looking at his shoulder, but there's nothing there. No hand. Of course there isn't, not now._

_When there's a lull, Martin speaks up, because he has to, he knows he does, he won't get a better opportunity. He says, "I've got a story," and when they look at him with interest, he adds, "A… a statement, really. It might be hard to hear, but… I think we all need to hear it again."_

_They're all looking at him like he's mad, some of them even with habitual irritation—he_ knew _that was coming, the word statement is enough to set anyone of them off. It's the same look they gave him back then. It doesn't matter, he keeps telling himself; this is more important._

_There's no need for a recorder; he never uses one, anymore, unless he's reaching out. But he doesn't want to upset the others, bring back bad memories; no need to feed the fucking Eye. Instead, this is how Martin prepares: he shifts in his seat, sits up straighter, clears his throat and looks out at the lot of them and begins. "Statement of Martin Blackwood," he says, "regarding the Magnus Institute, and everything that happened there." He takes a breath, hears the familiar words in their familiar cadence rattle through his mind: the Archivist is taking a statement. He says, "Statement begins."_

_\---_

**1985**

Gertrude Robinson disappears on March 15, 1985. It sticks in Martin's mind. Of course it sticks in Martin's mind; you're not going to _forget_ when your _coworker_ goes missing. Especially when she goes missing in the same giant house/workplace/Institute where your friends and coworkers live. 

Martin isn't there when she disappears, because it's at night, and he's lucky enough to not actually live there anymore. (Hasn't since his mum's care home burned down, and he's actually pretty glad of it some of the time.) So the police don't question him very much. But Sasha and Basira and Elias get questioned nearly to death. "I kept telling them I don't _know_ what happened," Sasha tells them later. "Gertrude was up in the attic. She _lived_ up in the attic, when she wasn't sleeping in the damn Archives. I saw her go up. I didn't see her go down. I didn't hear anyone _else_ go up. I was in my room all night, just like Gertrude always _wanted_ us to be. You know—" Sasha puts on a Gertrude voice: " _Remember to stay in your rooms at night. These grounds are too_ dangerous _to be out of your rooms after dark. I NEVER follow this rule, but_ you _should, by all means!"_

Martin has to fight the urge to giggle—Sasha does a good Gertrude impression, but it still feels _incredibly_ disrespectful. "Oh, c'mon now, Sasha, be polite," Tim says, only a little chidingly. "You can't make fun of someone who's _disappeared._ "

"Tim's right," says Martin, genuinely feeling guilty now. "She—she could be _dead_. You shouldn't speak ill of the dead."

"Come on, Martin, you know how Gertrude is. She's always running off and doing crazy things," Sasha says, pointing her beer bottle at Martin accusingly. "Remember when she was gone off to America for _three months_ in '83? She _does_ this sometimes."

"But she doesn't usually leave everything in her room and in the Archives behind when she leaves," Basira says darkly, taking a sip of her water. "She's _never_ done anything like that."

"Way to think positively, Basira," says Sasha. Tim and Martin shoot her a joint look and she adds, " _Kidding,_ I'm kidding. I hope they find her and she's fine. I'm _sure_ she is. Gertrude is tough, remember?"

"Yeah, we know," says Tim. "You're right. I'm sure she's fine."

But the more time goes on, the more obvious it becomes that Gertrude is _not_ fine. They go days without hearing anything. Before, in America, Gertrude had sent a courtesy postcard, at least, and she'd _definitely_ taken things with her. Here, everything is left behind, her room untouched, the Archives as much of a mess as ever. It sticks of foul play, of something being _wrong._ The longer it goes on, the more Martin is convinced that Gertrude won't be coming back. 

Elias doesn't seem worried at all, not one bit. In a way that actually makes Martin mad, and would probably make him even madder if he had been closer to Gertrude. Within two weeks, he's already talking about a replacement Archivist. "The Archives need attention," he says whenever any of them ask why he's replacing Gertrude before they've even found a _body._ "And even if Gertrude _is_ found, she probably won't be in any shape to be running an Archive."

"Why not promote in house, then?" Tim says irritably at that. "Sasha or Martin would be plenty qualified…"

"I'm afraid I've already found a suitable candidate in the London branch," Elias says brusquely (thankfully ignoring the glare Martin is shooting at Tim). "I _would_ like all of you to spend some time focused on the Archives, actually. Gertrude spent entirely too much time out of the Archives, and _unwisely_ decided not to accept any assistance, and the Archives have been sorely neglected in her time here. I'd like for that to change."

"How does _that_ make any sense?" Martin protests, before he can hesitate. (Five years ago, he might have, but he isn't really scared of Elias anymore. It's hard to be intimidated by a hermit who dresses like it's the nineteenth century and spends all his time holed up in the one wing of the house they're not allowed to go into.) "I've been working in the library for _five years,_ wh-why would I move to the Archives? And Tim and Sasha basically run Research single handedly. Are you bringing in _more_ new employees?"

"Martin, you're as aware as anyone how slow things are here. I'm not suggesting you _abandon_ your departments, just that you focus your attention on the Archives," Elias says coolly. "With all the time all of you spend _not_ working, this shouldn't be a problem, correct?"

Basira and Sasha look as annoyed as Martin feels, so it's Tim that ends up answering. "Sure. All right. Whatever you need, boss," he says, and Martin nods to fill in the gaps. 

"Good," says Elias. 

"What about Daisy?" Basira asks, folding her arms over her chest. "You transferring her to the Archives, too?"

"When she has the time, I suppose. You'll all be continuing in your usual duties, you'll just be assisting in the Archives, too." 

Elias turns towards the stairs, clearly finished with the conversation, but Martin speaks before he can go. "The new Archivist… what's his name?" he asks. 

Elias only turns a little, looking over his shoulder. "Jonathan Sims. I'll need you to retrieve him from London in a few days, Martin—you can take the car. I've offered him Gertrude's quarters, and he'll be staying here with the rest of you for the time being." And then he's walking upstairs, in that odd, noiseless way he has. 

"He really is replacing her, isn't he?" Sasha says quietly, as soon as Elias has vanished. "It's like he doesn't even _care_ she's gone."

"I thought you didn't like Gertrude," says Basira. "You always said she was a… what was it, a 'stone cold bitch?'" 

"Well, sure, but I didn't want her to _die_ ," says Sasha. "And even if she _wasn't_ the warmest person, she still doesn't deserve to… come back and find everything given away. Her job, her room… aren't her _things_ still up there?"

"Police took a lot for evidence, I think," Martin says. "She didn't have much at all." He's been here the longest out of all of them, and even _he_ hadn't gotten to know Gertrude well, but he's been around enough to get a glimpse into her bedroom, and it was about as bare as he's even seen a room, even barer than his room at home. He hates to say it, but he has no doubt that Gertrude's room is standing open, ready for this Jonathan Sims to move in. 

"Hell of a welcome," Sasha says. "Take an isolated job at a haunted manor and you're moving into a room that belongs to a woman who's probably dead?"

"If he works at the London branch, I'm sure he knows what he's getting into," says Tim. "And hey. Maybe it won't be that bad. _I_ grew on all of you, right?"

"Sure," Basira says dryly, just as Sasha bursts into fond laughter, in what Martin assumes is a burst of tension relief. That's the kind of thing that's needed around here; even with the good company, there's a lot of tension that comes with this job. They've gotten good at it over the years, pretending they don't work at a place like this. 

Two days later, Martin works up early to make the three hour trip out to London. Six hours round trip, really, which is plenty of time to spend cursing Elias. (He guesses he can't blame this Jonathan Sims person for not having a car, living in London; he remembers how it is living in the city. But why he can't take the _train_ part ways there, Martin doesn't know. And of course it's _his_ job to make the trek out there—it isn't enough that he has to take care of Mum in the mornings and evenings, or basically run a library by himself, or apparently help out with the Archives now. No, _he_ has to spend the whole day driving back and forth to London. Makes sense, he guesses, in that Elias lets him use the car to drive him and Tim back and forth from the village every day, but otherwise… It could just as _easily_ be one of the others, so he isn't sure why it's him.) 

Three hours of lamenting is plenty of time for lamenting, but Martin definitely uses it all, up until he pulls up beside the London branch of the Magnus Institute. There's a guy standing there, presumably waiting for Martin, if the outfit that makes Martin think of uni professors (possibly inaccurately, since he never went to uni) is anything to go by. Martin lets down the window, sticks out his head, and says, "Um, Jonathan Sims?"

"Uh, Jon, please," the man says, flushing. "And you're… Martin? Mr. Lukas told me to… look for you."

"Yeah, I'm Martin," Martin says, cheerily as he can muster after three hours, extending a hand out the window for Jon to shake. (At least he'll have company on the _three hour drive_ back.) "It's, um, it's nice to meet you."

Jon fumbles awkwardly to take his hand, Martin still halfway leaning out of the window, and shakes it. His palm is cool in Martin's. "Y-you, too," he says. And it's insane, but something in his voice makes Martin's smile slide from forced to real, to genuine, as he shakes Jon's hand. 

\---

Jon realizes he is mad to have taken this job. If nothing else, Georgie alone has told him a _dozen times_ that he is mad to have taken this job. Aside from it being hours away from London (a _live-in_ job, no less), on a manor that is famous for being haunted, or the like, and aside from the fact that he does not have a degree in Library Science or anything like that, he is taking the job of a woman who disappeared only two weeks ago. 

("And _sleeping_ in her _bed_ ," Georgie had said with a fascinated sort of disgust. "I have to say, Jon, this sounds like a recipe for you to be cursed, or possessed, or something. And as much as I know we both like ghost stories, I can't say I want you to _be_ in one." 

"It's a _promotion,_ " Jon said stubbornly. "It comes with a pay raise, and with the subtracted expense of rent, I should be able to save a great deal of money. This is a temporary thing, trust me."

"Sure, you _say_ that," said Georgie, "but I know how you get when you're absorbed in a project. And this sounds like a hell of a project. I'd bet you anything that you'll still be doing this in five years, _exactly_ this."

"If you're going to miss me, Georgina, you can just _say_ so," Jon had said, before immediately flushing. It's been a year since their break-up, but he still feels awkward insinuating anything like that. 

Georgie had just shaken her head and bumped her shoulder against his. "I _will_ miss you. And so will the Admiral. But I can tell you're determined to do this, so I won't try to talk you out of it. Just… be careful, okay? I don't want to have to trek out there with an exorcist to save your skin."

"Noted," said Jon. "Don't worry so much, Georgie. It's just a job." And inwardly, he tried to quieten any arguments he had to the contrary, tried to push away the childhood memories that he'd rather forget. It was a long time ago. It was a long time ago, and this is different, and it doesn't matter, because it's behind him now. It's done.)

It's a three hour drive out to this manor in the middle of nowhere, and according to Peter Lukas, the Head of the Institute (Elias something) is sending someone to drive him. Save your money, avoid the train, or something like that. It seems unusual to Jon, like this is some sort of period piece and he's going to work on some wealthy estate instead of an academic institution. (He supposes if you look at it through the lens of the origins of the building in question, rather than what it's being used for now, then he is going to be working on a wealthy estate. But it's still _strange._ It's certainly not a wealthy estate anymore; Hannah, a library worker who transferred from the original Institute, had Polaroids, and it looks like a cross between a haunted mansion and an abandoned house that is never cleaned.) 

Jon just feels relieved when the car shows up and the guy driving doesn't seem unwelcoming at all. Quite the opposite, really; he looks so welcoming it sends Jon over into a different kind of nervous. At least there's someone to talk to, he guesses; if this felt more like a chauffeur-escort-sort of thing, it would be horrible. He sits in the front, instead of the back, just because it feels right. 

The man driving the car is Martin Blackwood, and he's apparently been working at this branch of the Institute for five years, which is at least a year and a half longer than Jon. "In the library," he says, "mostly, but sometimes I help in Research or Artifact Storage if it's needed. Not that there's much to do in Artifact Storage, really, Robert quit last year and Sasha didn't want to go back, and most of the artifacts stay in London, anyway, so Elias didn't bother restaffing… I think I'm going to be assisting you now, though. I-in the Archives, I think all of us are… Apparently, Elias didn't approve of how Gertrude handled things, so he thought you might need the extra help…"

"I-I'm sure I will," Jon says, haltingly, pressing a hand to the dashboard. "Wh-who all will be… that is, how many assistants will I…"

"Oh, um, four, I guess? Maybe five, if you count Daisy, but she's never around," says Martin, laughing a little. "I-I think we'll be splitting our time, Tim and Sasha in Research, and me in the library, and Basira wherever she's needed, but... y-yeah, me and Sasha and Tim and Basira. And maybe Daisy." 

Jon blinks in surprise. "... Wow," he says. "I-I assume I'll need the help…"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, the Archives are a mess. D-don't get me wrong, Gertrude was a good Archivist, but she… she had her own system, I think? And she did _not_ want help. I-I think some… reorganizing or something will probably be in order," Martin says, nerousvly laughing again. He looks sideways at Jon, and Jon assumes he must look as nervous as he feels, because Martin rushes to add, "B-but we can help you out! Don't worry about it, Sasha knows the Archives well, and Basira, too, and we'll… we'll figure it out."

"Right." Jon looks down at his hands. "Right, um, thank you, Martin." 

They drive in silence for a moment before Jon speaks again, asks the question he's been wanting to ask since he heard the rumors floating around about Gertrude Robinson. Somehow—and Jon isn't sure how he comes to believe this, but somehow—he thinks Martin will actually tell him the truth. "Martin…" he starts, slowly, "... what _happened_ to Gertrude Robinson? Was she really… well, some people at the London branch think she was murdered."

Martin's quiet for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. "... We don't know," he says, finally. "Th-there hasn't been a body, so she might still be alive, but… we don't know. The police are looking into it. I-it wasn't… I don't see _how_ it could've been murder. There weren't really any _signs_ of murder. I wasn't there, I have a place in town, but Sasha and Basira didn't hear anything, and… the police didn't have any suspects, I don't think? I heard suicide floated as a possible scenario. And I-I guess murder is a possibility, but I don't…" Martin's fingers are tapping almost frantically on the wheel. "W-we don't know, we really don't. B-but it's perfectly safe! We all sort of look out for each other, and we don't… well, Gertrude sort of… got into trouble? I guess? She was more, um, adventurous… We don't really know what she did, but, uh… th-there's no reason to assume the same thing would happen to you."

"That's, um. Reassuring," says Jon. 

Martin laughs again, still nervous. "D-don't worry. It'll be fine. We look out for each other. You're a part of that, yeah?"

Jon shifts in his seat, somewhere between uncomfortable and endeared. "Y-yes, I guess I am." 

"Yeah," Martin says, a little firmer. "It's… it's not that bad, really. The work can be strange, sometimes, but the company is nice. Except for Elias, but he never really comes around anyway, so don't worry about him." 

Jon snorts at this, amused, before he can stop himself. It's unprofessional, he knows, but he says it anyways—he says, "If he's anything like Peter Lukas, I could believe that." (Meaning both the not-nice company and the never being around—Lukas was at the Institute so rarely that Jon feels he could hardly be called the Head.) And Martin laughs at that, too. 

The house is enormous—more of a manor, and nothing like what Jon expects an Institute to look like. Martin takes him through with the intention of introducing him to the others, but it takes nearly twenty minutes to find them. In the end, they're in the Archives, which are in the basement, and Martin swears about a dozen times they _never_ go down there. They find four people tucked in between the piles of shelves and boxes: a man and woman at a table going through a box of statements who Martin introduces as Tim and Sasha, another woman reading a thick book introduced as Basira, and another woman cleaning her nails with a knife, who gives Jon a cool look when Martin introduces her—Daisy. She's more intimidating than the others, Jon thinks; the others align more with what Martin said, about the nice company, but Daisy seems the most intimidating of the bunch, until Elias comes down to introduce himself. 

Elias is polite enough, Jon supposes, but there's something about him… Georgie would probably say he's slimy, he figures. Cold, drawn off, rubs you the wrong way. He _looks_ normal enough, if a little old fashioned, but for some unknown reason… Well, it doesn't matter. He shakes Jon's hand and says, "We're happy to have you with us, Jon. I'm sure you'll do a wonderful job," and for some unknown reason, Jon feels a cold prickle down his spine. He smiles politely and thanks Elias for the opportunity, and privately is a little relieved at Martin's earlier reassurance that Elias is never around. 

His main worry, though, isn't Elias, or Daisy, or any of the others—at least not after he sees the state of the Archives. It's the worst disorganized mess Jon has ever seen, nothing like what he ever imagined—four years at the London branch and he's heard plenty of references to "the Archives" where they send statements that have gone as far as they can in Research, and he always pictured something… neater. But _this…_ It's a horrible mess of shelves and scattered statements and unmarked boxes, stuffed in the entire basement of the Institute—which, considering the Institute is held within what was once a large country manor, is rather large. Jon practically gets a headache just looking at it. This clearly isn't a _simple_ kind of project; it's something that will take years, maybe even a lifetime, to finish. He sees why Elias reassigned four employees down here to assist him; he is clearly going to need it. 

Sasha shows him his room—she's been living here the longest out of everyone still here, she says, and she knows the house like the back of her hand. It's simple enough, little room with a bed and a chest of drawers and a mirror, and a bathroom. Jon suspects it will be kept simple; he's sort of a minimalist in the end. Sasha promises they'll show him around the whole grounds—"Tomorrow, maybe, you and Martin must be exhausted." 

"As long as… I'd like to get started on the Archives as soon as possible," Jon says, maybe a little stiffer than he normally would—he's supposed to be her _boss,_ right? And he really _does_ want to get started on the Archives. Be sort of silly for Elias to transfer him from London and find him slacking off on the first day. 

"Well, sure. But you've got to know your way around, right?" Sasha grins, shrugs. "It won't take long. We don't have to walk the _entire_ grounds, y'know."

They have an awkward meal of sandwiches in the kitchen before Martin and Tim leave for home. "Sometimes we do stuff more complicated, but a lot of the time, it's just this," Sasha says. "Except when Tim cooks. He likes to get fancy sometimes." Tim winks at them in response to this. Jon doesn't mind; it isn't as if he did anything very fancy for dinner at home, unless Georgie invited him over or dragged him out somewhere. (She wasn't much of a cook, either.)

Jon turns in early, but he can't sleep. He's restless, tossing and turning and looking out the window at the long, dark lawn. It's darker here than it was in London; Jon hasn't been to the country proper in a long time. Not since that weekend at a country house when he was eight—but no, no, he can't think of that. He stares out at the trees past the lawn, at the little church and cemetery off in the distance, like he is expecting to see some kind of phantom flitting around. Nothing. The night is quiet. 

Sasha and Basira gave him a sort of a warning before bed—Basira had said, "Gertrude used to warn against leaving your room in the middle of the night. Said it wasn't safe." Sasha added, "We don't listen to that, most of the time. Sure, the manor's supposedly haunted, but we work and live in an Institute that _investigates_ the _supernatural_ —what do you expect?" Jon looked back at Basira, like he expected her to agree, but all she'd said was, "Daisy's said some stuff like that, too. I mean, she's gone out of _her_ room at night, wandering around, but—she's Daisy. That's to be expected, I guess." Basira hadn't elaborated after that.

Jon doesn't plan on listening to the advice, either—probably unwise, considering how Gertrude died, but, well. He has the feeling Gertrude met a fate that was all too human, not the result of some monster or ghoul. And unless he can't trust Sasha or Basira, he doesn't really fear that. 

In the end, he doesn't go outside, anyway. In the end, he just goes down to the Archives. Makes his way three floors down to the basement and stands there for a moment, among the shelves of files and boxes and all of it. He sits for a minute, at the desk with Gertrude's name plate, and skims through a few statements. A strange figure offering cigarettes, a coffin that sings in the rain. It's enough to put Jon on edge, just a little, and he's headed back upstairs within an hour. Leave it for the morning, he supposes. 

Back in his room, Jon thinks he sees something in the mirror over the dresser. He stands there for a moment, looking at the dark shape of his reflection, and for a second, he thinks he sees shapes moving behind him. A silhouette, a familiar silhouette that he's really only seen over his shoulder since he was eight years old, waterlogged and blue in the face, eyes turning to watch him… 

Jon shudders hard and yanks away, so hard that his hip hits the bedside table and he bites his tongue, tastes the tang of blood in his mouth. " _Fuck_ ," he hisses, shaking his head, because he's not going to think about it, not here, not _here,_ not now. It was a long time ago and it's over. He's dealing in the paranormal experiences of others now. He's got to put that behind him. 

He gets in bed and turns towards the window, away from the mirror, and he doesn't look back at it for the rest of the night. And in the morning, it looks perfectly normal all over again. 

\--- 

"Is that a _marsh?_ " Jon asks, squinting at the foggy patch of land past the walls of the cemetery. 

They're showing him around the grounds, and they've managed to stumble onto Martin's least favorite patch. He nods, in response to Jon's question, and tries not to wince. 

"This estate is lucky. It's got about half the different landmarks, environments, and types of different buildings you can even _have_ ," Sasha says dryly. "But yeah, that's the marsh. Just a little one. I wouldn't go over there. Martin says it's dangerous."

"Dangerous? Why would it be _dangerous?_ " Jon asks, eyebrows raised, tone dripping with disbelief and skepticism. 

"Oh, it's all… gross," Martin says, weakly. "Wet mud, a-and murky water, from the lake, and… quicksand, maybe."

"Quicksand?" Tim says, laughing a little. "Are you sure, Mart-o? It's sort of a small marsh."

"You never _know,_ " Martin protests. Jon is looking at him like he's mad, though, so he tries to explain it better. "It just… gives me a bad feeling. Like there's something wrong with it. I-I used to spend a lot of time around here, when I first was hired, and it's… it's a depressing place, I guess. Just… doesn't _feel_ right." 

He used to walk for hours there, he remembers, come down and walk the dirt paths, or sit on the little foot bridge and just wallow in bad feelings. And then hours would pass and it would be late, dark already, or maybe he'd sit out there all night. It made him feel numb, wrong, made him forget about missing his mum, or his life in London, or—or any of it. It was comforting, at first, until it wasn't. Until eventually it just made him feel sick. 

He'd stopped, eventually, when Sasha had come, and he'd started having company, having a real friend outside of the other employees he was friendly with. (Sasha had even pulled him out once, the last time, which was a little embarrassing, but Martin remained incredibly grateful to her for that.) And then his mum's care home had burned down, when she was out on a visit with him, and he'd moved out of the Institute and found a flat for them in town (they could've left the area completely, but Martin didn't think he'd be able to find a job this well paying, that also wouldn't look too hard on his CV). And he'd stopped going to the marsh, then. He never goes near it now, because he's constantly worried he'll be sucked back in. He never wants to feel like that again. And anyways, now he has the others, and he's got his mum again, difficult as she is, and it just… It's better. So he doesn't go there. 

Jon's still looking at him a little oddly, skepticism painted all over his face, but he doesn't press. He folds his arms over his chest and looks back towards the small chapel. Tim reaches over and claps Martin on the back and says, "It's okay, Martin, we get it." To Jon, he says, "There's a lot of places like that on the grounds. Sasha's convinced the lake is haunted."

" _Excuse_ me, Timothy, I _think_ the whole grounds are haunted," says Sasha, her voice hovering on the edge of a laugh. 

"See, Jon? Plenty of opportunities to run into ghosts, or lots of other things," says Tim, nudging Jon. 

"I, uh—t-that remains to be seen," says Jon, stammering a little. "I-I don't believe in ghosts."

"You don't believe in ghosts? _How_ do you work for the Magnus Institute and not believe in _ghosts_?" Martin says incredulously, marsh forgotten for a moment. 

Jon looks taken aback, his mouth hanging open in surprise. "I… I just _don't,_ " he says, sounding almost insulted.

"Give it a few months here," Sasha says dryly, wiping her glasses on the hem of her shirt. "That'll change."

\---

Jon doesn't know how to be around the others.

It's tough going, in the beginning, hard to get used to being a boss to four people (five? He doesn't know his relationship to Daisy) who already know each other so well, who have been working together for years and have all this experience… Jon's got his three years in the London branch, sure, but that's London; this is the _original_ Institute, and most of them have been here for the same amount of time or longer, aside from Tim. And he _likes_ the others, even if they are intimidating—as genuinely as he likes anyone; he hasn't really had many friends since uni—and aside from some new tension with Martin, he thinks they might sort of like him, too. Maybe. So it's getting harder and more awkward to act the way he suspects a boss probably should. 

(Jon isn't sure where things started going wrong with Martin. They'd gotten along fairly well that first day, on the endless car ride out here, and Jon might've even called Martin something of a friend, then. But after that, things started to go… well, if not sour, then maybe just more… taut? Rigid? Tense. Something between them has seemed to snap and go tight, like a string about to break.

If Jon had to guess, he might say that it started that second day, when he'd insinuated there was nothing wrong with the marsh Martin seems so unnerved by—which in his defense, it _looks_ normal—and said he didn't believe in ghosts. Martin seemed to respond a little more brusquely to Jon after that. And it's escalated in the weeks since, when they're reviewing the recordings Jon makes of statements after they've finished following up—apparently Martin isn't a fan of his skepticism in the notes he offers afterwards. If Jon felt like sharing, or discussing it with Martin, he'd point out that he's only being thorough, attempting to poke holes in things to make sure they're sound. And that, _really,_ he's mostly playing it up in an exaggerated way because of the odd feeling he gets when he's recording, like he's being watched. He could tell Martin that he _does_ believe in the supernatural, and has ever since that day by the lake, after what he saw… but _really,_ it isn't any of Martin's business. So he doesn't bother to explain any of it. 

So the whole thing, this… new tension, mostly manifests in bickering over Jon's case notes, or over the critiques Jon offers of Martin's reports. Which is fine, really. Just because they got along the first day doesn't mean that Jon is going to actually be _friends_ with Martin. They might not be compatible as coworkers. And that's all they are, really. Martin doesn't even live here.)

The real problem with the others is that Jon doesn't know how to act as their boss. (Not Martin—Jon doesn't have any trouble with that around Martin.) Tim and Sasha are very disarming, easy to be around, and their experience in Research gives him common ground with them. And Basira mostly keeps to herself, aside from working with Daisy—she spends half her time reading enormous books, which Jon might comment on if she didn't turn in decent reports and follow-up despite it all—but she's nice enough. And Jon's caught in an odd space where he doesn't know whether to be strict and professional around them, or let his guard down. _Especially_ Sasha and Basira, who are basically his roommates. It might be easier if he didn't live and work in the same place, but now that he does… his options are basically either be a nitpicking boss one hundred percent of the time, or bounce wildly back and forth to the point of probably alienating them all. There's no good options, really. And he feels like he can't lighten up, not completely—he's their _boss._ Surely Elias wouldn't want him to just… let everyone do whatever they want. 

Tim and Sasha keep inviting him out for drinks. Apparently, Tim lives in a little flat just above the pub, and they go there on weekend (and some weekday) nights for drinks. Jon spends the first few weeks or so refusing, sure this breaches the bounds of professionalism—but, well. He _likes_ Tim and Sasha, and it isn't as if he gets much companionship isolated out here, besides his weekly long distance call to Georgie. And for all his hopes of impressing Elias (creeper of a boss or not), Elias is rarely even around to _notice_ something like going out for drinks. So finally, Jon agrees. And it's… it's _good._ Awkward, the first few times, but gradually it gets easier, natural, like he's known them for years. Sasha and Tim come across as the kind of people that are just easy to be around. It doesn't make figuring out how to be their boss any easier, but it's nice to have someone to talk to. 

Jon doesn't know Daisy _or_ Basira well. He talks with Basira sometimes, over awkward meals in the kitchen, but Daisy barely acknowledges his existence at all. She's usually out of the house on "errands for Elias," and sometimes Basira will go with her, so Jon doesn't see a _ton_ of them in the first month or so, not compared to Tim and Sasha. And then there's Elias, who will show up in the kitchen or the Archives or the living room (where he and Sasha and Basira will sit and read some nights) unexpectedly, usually with cryptic comments about Jon's archiving work, or questions about what statements they've been looking into. It's annoying, but Jon figures it's as much a part of the job as any. Mostly, at home, outside of work, he spends time with Sasha. 

The conflict with Martin brings about an entirely different kind of worry: that it'll alienate him from the others as well. Probably a silly thing to worry about, all things considered, but Jon is the newest one here; they all know Martin already, all _like_ Martin already, and probably wouldn't take nicely to someone who argues with Martin on the daily. But it doesn't come up for almost a month and a half of working there. Sasha's the one who brings it up, in the end; she and Jon are in the kitchen one night, reading through a pile of statements Tim labeled as "Probably Discredited," and Sasha laments not having any tea. So Jon tries to make some. He's no expert in tea, certainly—he never made it much for Georgie, since she either drank coffee or made it herself—but he's made it enough that he assumes he can make it all right for Sasha. 

He assumes wrong on that matter—Sasha makes a face after her first sip and tries to hide it behind her hand, while pushing the mug all right. "It's… um, it's a little stronger than I like," she says weakly, cheerily, without making any move to water it down. 

"Oh. Erm… my apologies, then," says Jon, unusually stiff. "I… don't really make tea for anyone but myself."

Sasha smiles apologetically. "Have Martin make you a cup sometime. I feel a little bad he's always doing it, but I swear to God, it's _excellent._ I drafted him into doing it years ago."

Jon snorts a little at that. "I doubt he'll be making any for me," he says, before he can stop himself. 

Sasha's smile turns halfway sly. "What, because you two can't make it through an entire day without snapping at each other?"

Jon looks away immediately, down at his own steaming mug. "... You've noticed, then," he says quietly. 

" _Anyone_ would've noticed by now, Jon. It's a regular occurrence." Sasha takes a bite of a biscuit and pulls another statement off the pile. "Tim and I have a pool going as to which of you is going to break first. Tim thinks it'll culminate in a _passionate_ , full-on argument over haunted spider dens."

Jon grimaces a little at that. He doesn't like spiders; he doesn't have an explanation for it, he just… doesn't like spiders. And Martin clearly does. "I don't relish arguing so frequently with an employee," he says—adding the regular, silent _Especially one I thought I'd be getting ALONG with._ "It's just… what business is it of _his_ if I want to approach these cases with skepticism? Just because I work for a paranormally based Institute doesn't mean I have to believe every single statement that comes through the door!"

Sasha makes a bit of a face. "You do what you want, Jon. I just… I understand where he's coming from. He's been working here for a long time, and he's… I don't know how true it is, but if what he's said is anything to go by, I don't think the marsh is anything to mess with."

Jon blinks in surprise at that. "The… the marsh? What are you talking about?"

"The one we showed you that first day, the one that you said didn't look dangerous?" says Sasha. "I think that… got to Martin, I guess. He's got a history with that patch of land. He insists it's haunted, o-or cursed or something."

"You don't believe him," Jon says, matter-of-factly. He can tell from Sasha's tone. 

"I don't know what I believe. I've never felt anything there _personally_ , but I… I found him there one time, a couple weeks after I was hired, when he was still living here. Six in the morning and he's out there in his pajamas, barefoot, just wandering around with this _look_ in his eyes… Even if there's nothing supernatural there, that place has an _effect_ on Martin. He associates it with a bad time in his life." 

Sasha eats another biscuit, taps her fingernails absently against the tabletop. Jon blinks at her in confusion. "You think he's upset because I _said the marsh didn't look dangerous_ on my first day here?"

"I think that might be part of it," says Sasha. "Like I said, it affects him."

Jon looks back down at his mug, somewhere between bristling and guilty. (Trying not to picture Martin walking around in his pajamas alone in the marsh.) "... This isn't entirely my fault, you know," he says. "I have my own reasons for skepticism that _he_ has never bothered to ask _me_ about. I-I-I have reasons for doing things the way I do."

"Like I said, do what you want. I just wanted to… explain, I guess." Sasha licks a scattering of crumbs off of her lower lip, gets up to pour out her tea and get a glass of water. (Jon supposes that's the verdict on his tea.) "We _wouldn't_ mind it if you two got along, though," she adds, over her shoulder. "It'd definitely make pub nights a lot easier." 

"Hmmph," Jon says. "We'll have to see, I suppose." Privately, he doesn't expect much of a change; even if Martin stops nitpicking over Jon's view of cases, it's unlikely that his work quality will improve overnight. 

One morning next week, though, Jon does try some of Martin's tea. And Sasha was actually right. It's an annoyingly good cup of tea.

\---

Martin isn't actually sure that Jon likes him, after he's been there for a couple weeks. And he isn't actually sure that _he_ likes _Jon._ The car ride up was… nice, but the longer they work together, the more it seems like a fluke. Jon clearly has no patience for Martin's fuck-ups, work _or_ otherwise. And there's plenty of those, Martin's sure, probably because he doesn't have the bloody qualifications to deal with _any_ of this. 

It could be worse—Jon could be nastier about it, he supposes—but it still comes with a lot of snapping and annoyance aimed at Martin over the others. Maybe that's just how he is, he's stiff enough with the others, but not… like _that._ Martin isn't even sure how it _started_ . Maybe at the argument they get into on the first day, over the first statement Jon has them research, which he starts dismissing right out the gate. (He's listened to the tapes, they all do, and Jon just spends _every single notes section_ tearing them to shreds. Every time, and it just drives Martin _mad._ He's dismissive of _most_ stuff they research, even the statements that fit in pretty well among the usual stuff they've seen, versus the less grounded stuff, and part of it just rubs Martin _wrong._ Martin keeps thinking of the things he's seen, the statements he's read and heard people give, the horrible experiences that Jon can't possibly _really_ understand, and what right does _he_ have to assume they're all false? 

So yeah, maybe it's Martin as much as Jon. Maybe. But he isn't sure he can blame himself.) 

It doesn't really explode in any way other than him and Jon bickering on almost a daily basis, but it's starting to get on Martin's nerves. (They almost come to blows over a proposed follow-up where Jon wants Martin to find a woman named Angela with absolutely nothing to go on, not even a last name, and then again over a statement with spiders. Carlos Vittery, whose death by spider webs is apparently _perfectly natural._ ) Some days, it isn't that bad; some days, they just do their work and that's that. But some days dissolve into irritated bickering, over a case or one of Martin's reports or anything like that, and it's starting to get exhausting. 

Martin should probably just bite the bullet and admit he's not qualified. It might not help Jon's tearing to shreds of every single statement they come across, but maybe it would at _least_ help with Jon nitpicking over Martin's work. But the thought still spooks him. Tim is still the only one that knows, after all this time. And if Martin were going to tell anyone, it would be Sasha or Basira, _not_ his brand new boss who suddenly seems to hate him, and who _actually_ has the power to fire him. He _can't_ lose this job; what the hell would he and his mum do? They're barely affording the little house they rent at this rate. And even if Jon _didn't_ fire him, odds are it would get back to Elias eventually, and then Martin would _definitely_ be screwed. It isn't worth the risk. 

"I'm going to say something to him," Tim says, on one of their drives home. "This is ridiculous, we can't keep on like this. Office isn't big enough for you two to be coming to blows _daily._ "

"The office _also_ isn't big enough for the tension that'd erupt over you telling him to leave me alone," says Martin. "Besides, he's our _boss,_ Tim. He could probably fire you, too—probably _would_ fire you if he hated you, too."

"See, I don't think he _hates_ you, Martin," says Tim. "You said you all got along on the ride up, right?"

"Well—yeah, but he barely _knew_ me then," says Martin. "Could've been a fluke. You don't start hating people til you know them well enough to hate them."

"Oh, _not_ true. Gut instinct, Mart-o. How long did it take you to start hating Elias?" Tim says. 

Martin snorts with laughter at that. "All right, point taken. But I still don't think you saying something is going to improve the situation. Even if he _does_ like you." (There's an edge of bitterness there that Martin has to consciously push away, yeah. Because of _course_ his new boss would go from being relatively friendly to hating him, and _then_ befriend Martin's coworkers, who are also the only friends he has because of the isolation, and start going to all the pub nights. Of _course._ )

"Again, I _don't_ think he hates you. And this is a two-sided issue, you know; you spar with him as much as he does you," Tim says pointedly. 

Martin sighs, chewing at his lower lip. "Sure, fine, sure. But it's a bit of an abnormal workplace rivalry considering he's my _boss_ and he can _fire_ me."

"He's not going to fire you, Martin. Look, I've actually _talked_ to the guy some, and I think he's just freaked out. New job where the previous occupant was murdered and everyone's more experienced than you… _anyone_ would be freaked out, right?" 

Martin scoffs, staring at his hands on the wheel, and immediately regrets it, because _that_ just makes him think about when Jon asked about what happened to Gertrude on the way up here (the vulnerability in his voice then)... Maybe he really _is_ freaked out. 

Tim adds, "That _doesn't_ excuse him being an ass to you. But, y'know, maybe he'll mellow out some. He's not that bad of a guy once you get him out of the office. And besides, I've read your reports, Martin, they aren't bad at all. You've got a different style from mine and Sasha's, but… I mean, you've had more time here than any of us, if _anyone_ knows what they're doing…" 

"In the _library,_ not in Research," Martin says dryly. "And… maybe, sure. Maybe Jon will mellow out." (Although a private part of Martin sort of doubts it.)

"Or _maybe_ if I say something, he'll stop," Tim adds. "I _do_ think he's jumpy here, and might lay off you once he's settled in. Besides, he isn't the most qualified for the Archivist job in the first place."

"How do you—" 

"Sasha's a professional snoop," Tim says. "Hey, maybe the two of you could bond over being wolves in an academic's clothing." 

"Ha ha," Martin says dryly. "It's _not_ just my CV, you know. It's also the fucking _dismissals._ You can't say that doesn't drive you mad. 'Oh, Martin, there's a _perfectly natural_ explanation for the corpse being coated in spider webs. That happens _every day._ '"

"I _know,_ I know, we've all heard the debates, Martin. Neither of you are quiet. And in his defense… some people are skeptical like that," says Tim. 

"How do you get promoted like that at a _paranormal Institution,_ get all the way to the Head Archivist position, without believing in the paranormal?" Martin's annoyed all over again now. (He hasn't said another word about everything that happened in the marsh; not a chance. He's not going to stand there and listen to Jon tear apart his own supernatural encounter.)

"Yes, I know, I know, it's a… little grating," says Tim—and there's something else there, something darker Martin can't read. "But… maybe skepticism will be healthy. You know how we get prank statements, or the obviously fake ones every now and then… I'll bet they got them all the time in London. Even _more,_ maybe, they're in the big city. Maybe… all this time Jon's spent working with those statements has made him a little skeptical. Remember the one with the… _possessed dog?_ If I'd read dozens of those, I'd be skeptical, too."

Martin sighs a little, looking sideways at Tim. "You don't have to defend him this much, Tim. He isn't here. Kissing up will get you nowhere."

" _Martin,_ " Tim says, affronted, rolling his eyes. "I like you both, all right? And he shouldn't be an ass about your work, yeah, but this little… workplace feud you two have going on is two sided, remember? You just said!"

Martin immediately flushes, fixing his eyes on the road. "Yeah, I… I know, but I… it'd be a _lot_ easier if he wasn't so… _confrontational._ "

"I know. I'm sorry." Tim grins a little, patting his shoulder. "I really do think it might sort itself out when he settles in, you know. And I think if I said something, he'd probably start stepping back."

"But…" Martin starts, pointedly. 

" _But…_ I won't say anything if you don't want me to," Tim finishes. 

"I _don't_ want you to," says Martin. "It'll… it'll sort itself out eventually, you're right. Or maybe it won't, and he's just a giant prick that we'll have to deal with for the next _millennia_ while we all sort the Archives."

Tim laughs a little at that. "Maybe. But I don't think so," he says. "Why would he have been nice to you on a three hour car ride if he was just an ass? Doesn't make sense." 

"Hmmph," Martin says. 

"Besides," says Tim, "I really do like him. When he's not being an ass to you, I mean. He's like a different person once he sheds the _Stuffy Boss_ persona, I swear."

Martin had thought he liked him, too, after the car ride. He remembers that. 

He sighs and shakes his head and changes the subject, determined not to let himself get all moony over someone who clearly _doesn't like him,_ and Tim lets it go. And that's that. 

But the next day, there's an odd little shift again, one that's barely noticeable to anyone except Martin (and maybe also Tim, who winks obnoxiously at him when it happens). Sasha begs Martin to make tea the next morning, insisting he does it the best—"Mine's too weak, Basira won't even try, and _Jon's_ is so bad I think he might be trying to poison us," she says (eliciting a stunned choking sound from Jon). So Martin makes everyone tea—he knows how they all like it now. And in the end, he makes one for Jon, too. About as simple as you can, since he doesn't know what the man likes, but it's still something. Jon gives him an odd look when Martin hands it to him, but his voice is oddly soft when he thanks him. It's not much, but it's something, Martin thinks. _Maybe._

\---

There is something wrong with the mirror in Jon's room. 

He can't explain it, not at all, except that he feels like it is watching him. Like _he_ is watching him, his reflection; he will look in the mirror and see his own eyes staring back, staring _pointedly,_ with a purpose, in a way that reflections _don't stare_. 

Jon tries to tell himself he's imagining it. He's seen statements about haunted mirrors, sure, but this isn't… this can't be _that._ It's the stress, the stress of a new job and having to be boss to people who have been here longer than him, having to try and organize that mess of an Archive, Elias's odd expectations, and the constant bickering with Martin. (Which Jon feels a little guilty about, the longer it goes on. He still feels as if Martin started it, and that Martin is entirely too invested in whether or not Jon believes in the statements. But… Martin was the first person he met here, Martin was the one he talked to on the car ride up—Martin _reassured him about Gertrude and said they'd keep him safe._ And now Jon is snapping at him about his reports, and getting into long-winded arguments over cases, _weeks_ after he's gotten here. Maybe he's just internalized what Sasha said, but… yes. He's starting to feel guilty over the whole thing.) 

The worst of it all is the pressure from Elias; his never being around adds an extra layer of mystery and stress to the whole thing—makes him more intimidating, but also gives very little idea of his expectations. It's all taxing, horribly so; Jon spends the majority of his time working, longer than even Sasha or Basira, who will stay down in the Archives sometimes after Tim and Martin leave for the day. He's tense, he's snapping at people, he's probably making a horrible first impression, and he isn't sure how to stop, because if he lets up and they all start slacking, what then? What if Elias decides to fire him? And now he's seeing things in his mirror. (Sometimes himself, looking back. Sometimes the face of his childhood bully, at night when he's tired and when it's harder not to think about it—it's gotten harder and harder to forget it all since he's gotten here. Sometimes eyes. Just eyes, in the top corner, watching him, until Jon looks directly at them, and then they're gone.) 

It comes to a head, sort of, one night a few weeks after he's arrived. Jon leaves the Archives late, after Basira and Sasha have already gone to bed. Daisy's at the kitchen table, listening to the radio turned on low, but she doesn't say anything when Jon comes in. No sign of Elias, of course. Jon gets something to eat and heads straight to bed, hoping he might be able to get some decent sleep tonight. (He hasn't been sleeping well—nightmares.) He doesn't look at the mirrors, in the bathroom or the bedroom. It's an automatic thing—don't look in the mirrors. He changes and heads for the bed without looking at the mirror. 

Until he hears a rattle—just a small one. Glass on the dresser. And, well, Jon has to look then, he can't _not_ look, not if there is something in the room with him. So he looks, straight into the mirror, and it is looking back. Looking glasses, that's what mirrors are called sometimes, and Jon can understand why; his own reflection is still staring back at him, _watching_ him. And in the mirror, he can see more people standing behind him—not clear cut people, but dark shapes, silhouettes where no features are visible except for their eyes… 

Jon screams, he thinks—he must make a noise—and tries to jerk away. He loses his balance and falls off the bed, hitting the floor with a loud crash. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath, of looking around the room and reassuring himself that there is no one here, no ghosts or actual people standing behind him—it was just the mirror. And then his door bangs open, startling him all over again. 

"Jon!" It's Basira, standing in the doorway, the light of the hall blurring her into a shadow. "Are you all right?"

Jon makes a wheezy sound of affirmation, pulling himself to his feet. He does not look at the mirror. 

"I thought I heard you shouting," says Basira. "And then a loud thump, and then… I don't know, I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"F-fine," Jon says, teeth clenched. "Just—I thought I saw something, but I-I-I think I imagined it."

Basira steps a little further into the room, her eyes dark with understanding. "This place will do that to you," she says. "Believe me, I know."

"R-right." Jon pushes his glasses back into place, looks back at Basira. "Thank… thank you for… checking. I-I hope I didn't wake you up, or Sasha…"

"No, don't worry about it, Sasha sleeps like the dead," says Basira dryly. "And I wasn't asleep anyway. Still working on that book."

"Oh, t-the one about the… alchemy?" Jon offers; he'd noticed Basira reading it at breakfast. 

"Yeah, that one. Nearly finished with it." Basira crosses her arms, studies him for a moment longer before she adds, "Do you want something to drink?"

Jon blinks in surprise for a few moments at this. "L-like… tea, or something?"

"No. Not tea. Sasha warned me after the last time you made some," says Basira dryly. "We can find something else. Coffee or something." 

She turns towards the door decisively, like Jon has already said yes, so he says, "All right," and follows her into the halls, halfway hoping that Elias is still gone. 

"You know, if you need a distraction or anything, I could… give you a statement," Basira offers, on their way down the stairs. "I've never given one before."

Jon is blinking in surprise again when she says that, genuinely shocked. "You… you want to give me a _statement?_ " he says, mildly shocked both that Basira has an encounter herself (maybe he shouldn't be, but she's never mentioned anything like that—possibly because he's only known her for a month, but still), and that she's offering to relay that experience to him. He hasn't taken any live statements, of course, but he remembers people who came in at the London branch to give written statements, and none of them seemed thrilled with the experience. 

Basira shrugs. "Sure. Get your mind off things, right? I mean, I guess my spooky story might not be a good reassurance when it comes to… forgetting the spooky thing you saw in your room, but…"

"N-no, it's fine, that sounds… fine," Jon says quickly, following her into the kitchen. "As long as… Elias wouldn't mind, would he?"

Basira snorts. "I doubt it. He's encouraged all of us to make statements, actually, but none of us really have, aside from me and Daisy when we first came out here… and he doesn't care if we're out of our rooms or whatever. That only ever bothered Gertrude."

Maybe for good reason, Jon thinks, considering what happened, but he doesn't say this. He and Basira sit down at the kitchen table (where Daisy is not anymore), and she tells him the story of a kid who was kidnapped in her old building that she and Daisy ended up tracking down. It's an odd experience, a more fluid story that Jon is used to people telling—most people linger over the odd detail, or stumble over things, but Basira tells the story like she's practiced it a dozen times. It really does sound like a statement. 

Jon doesn't linger over it. They sit up for a few hours talking, and Jon thanks her for the company before he goes back to bed. He sleeps for a few hours, without interruption but restlessly; he ends up having unsettling dreams, and not about the mirror, but about Basira's statement. It's the strangest thing; he can picture it _perfectly,_ like he was there. 

He starts covering the mirrors after that, with a spare sheet. And it helps, it really does. 

\---

Georgie comes to visit, about four months after Jon takes the job. She gets a room at the small inn in town for a couple of nights, asks a friend to watch the Admiral, and takes the train north to visit. Jon's immensely relieved to see her—not that he isn't happy with the others, of course, but it's only been a month, and the manor is unsettling, and Georgie is about the only thing here that feels like his home. (Because even with everything with Tim and Sasha and Basira, the Institute still doesn't feel like home.)

Martin drives Jon out to the station to pick her up—Jon doesn't have a license, and there aren't any cabs, and Martin says about a dozen times that he does this all the time. (Maybe a little _begrudgingly,_ but he does say it.) Georgie likes him immediately, Jon can tell, shaking his hand and asking questions about town and the Institute and all of it. (Of course, he thinks, she would immediately hit it off with the _one_ coworker he doesn't get along with…) She likes the others, too, Tim and Sasha—Daisy and Basira are out on an errand, but Tim and Sasha wanted to meet her, so they all meet at the pub for a drink, and of _course_ Georgie hits it off with everyone. It's surreal, and unexpected, Jon mixing his work life with his personal life—although when you live where you work, there doesn't seem to be much of a difference. But it's almost nice, at the same time. Georgie's insisting on taking Jon along to drinks with her friends from work before, and it was always a bit forced and awkward as Jon tried to make small talk with people he didn't know, but this is nothing like that. It's nice. 

It's so nice that what happens the next day is genuinely startling, enough so that in the weeks following, Jon will run over and over it in his head, trying to figure out what he did wrong. 

Georgie wants to see the grounds, so she hitches a ride to the manor with Tim. It's a Saturday, and Jon and Tim have gotten into mild rows before about working on Saturdays (for weeks now, he's dramatically begged Jon _not_ to become another Sasha or Basira, who apparently work most weekends), so Jon expects to have the day open to show her around. He can take one Saturday. That's what normal people do, he hears. 

But Elias shows up, when they're showing Georgie the Archives, full of questions about who this is and what she's doing here. Georgie introduces herself, pleasant enough, but Jon can tell she doesn't think much of him. "I'm sorry, Elias," he says, "I-I didn't think it would be a problem to show her around, but I… should've kept out of the Archives."

"Not a problem at all, Jon, although typically we don't show the public down here unless they're looking to make a statement. I assume Ms. Barker isn't looking to make a statement?" Elias inclines his head towards Georgie. 

"Afraid I don't have any experiences to share," Georgie says, faux-cheerful. "No _real_ ones, anyway."

"Oh, of course." Elias folds his arms and looks back towards Jon. "I _did_ wonder about the Owens statement? I believe all of you were looking into it yesterday?"

"That one? That statement is from six months ago," says Sasha. "We took it while Gertrude was out, i-it's just been sitting down here for—"

"—entirely _too long,_ " says Elias, his voice stiff and stern. "Gertrude should have researched it right when it came in, but she was off on one of her ridiculous work holidays. I'd _thought_ under new management, this would be a new priority."

Jon feels heat rising to his cheeks as he starts to nod. Tim speaks up, his voice rising in annoyance: "Not to speak out against you, boss, but it's a _Saturday_ . We don't typically work on weekends—Martin and I usually don't even come in, Martin's not even _here_ today—and Jon's got a guest…"

"It isn't a big deal," Georgie says abruptly. Sasha opens her mouth as if to protest, but Georgie just shakes her head. "Really, I get it. Work's a priority, right? I've had to work the odd Saturday more than once. I can show myself around while you all finish up… i-if that's all right with Mr. Bouchard." She looks politely towards Elias (in a way that Jon can completely tell is false, her catering to someone she doesn't like; privately, he looks forward to the eviscerating comments Georgie will definitely make towards Elias later). 

"Perfectly fine, Ms. Barker. It isn't my estate, honestly; I just run the Institute," says Elias, in a tone suggesting generosity. "If you're interested in ghost stories—or any of the paranormal—I might suggest looking at the cemetery. It's quite eerie."

Jon suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. As soon as Elias leaves, he asks Georgie if she's sure she'll be okay. "Jon, don't be ridiculous," she says. "The grounds are huge, I can keep myself entertained. Saves you all the trouble of having to show me around yourselves."

"Sorry about him," Sasha says quietly, inclining her head towards the stairs. "He… well, I'd say he usually isn't like this, but it'd be a lie. _Not_ usually on weekends, though. Usually, he doesn't care what we do as long as we spend the week hard at work."

"That's because you and Basira and Daisy usually spend the _weekend_ hard at work, too, Sash," Tim says teasingly. 

"I get it, really. I've had my share of shit bosses," says Georgie. "I'll look around, and you all finish up work, and maybe we can have another drink later."

"Th-that sounds good," says Jon. "I—t-thank you, Georgie."

Georgie rolls her eyes at him and grins. "Stop worrying, Jon. I'll see you when you're done." 

That's the last time Jon talks to her, that moment. The three of them work into nearly night (Basira and Martin still gone), and when they're done, Georgie is gone. No one knows why. No one even sees her but Sasha; she goes up to the kitchen for a water and sees Georgie through the window, headed for the gate. "I-I went out to tell her we were almost done, and she… she was acting strange," she tells them. "Not… not like she was earlier. I… I don't know Georgie well, but she seemed off. Like something was… wrong."

"A-and she said she was _leaving?_ " Jon says, confused and trying to understand. "Right then? She said she was going?"

"Yes. She said she had to go home, and she wouldn't accept a ride or anything," says Sasha. 

"Wr-wrong, how did she seem _wrong?_ " Jon presses, voice stuttering and stumbling, mind racing with nervous possibilities. (For some reason, he can't stop picturing his childhood bully, what happened to him, and his chest is aching at the thought of this happening to Georgie. There's absolutely no indication of that, no hint that she's in that kind of trouble, but…) "Was she sick, w-was she hurt?"

"She was just… I don't know, it's like she was numb. Robotic or something, like something had… l-like she was in shock," says Sasha. "I-I didn't feel right following her, l-like I was chasing her down, or something, so I thought I should…"

"We'll go after her," Tim says, pushing up from his chair. "W-we can take the car. We can catch her before she hits the station. Jon." His hand settles on Jon's shoulder, warmly, and Jon jolts, quivering a little with panic. Tim's eyes are dark with worry and reassurance all at once, in a way that… well, Jon's probably mad, but in a way that makes him think Tim's been through this before. "We'll find her. Don't worry. It'll be all right." 

Jon searches for the words, mouth working helplessly until he lands on what he wants to say. "A-a-all right. Th-thank you, Tim." He pushes up from his seat, too, and follows them to the door, mind stuffed only with panic and worry for Georgie. 

But they don't find her. Not on the road, and not at the train station, and not at the inn or anywhere in town. Martin ends up coming out, to help them look, and they spend most of the night doing it, but they have no luck, no luck at all. Tim and Martin know the village well, and they swear they've looked everywhere that Georgie could be, aside from if she's hidden in someone's house. She isn't there. 

Jon calls her, calls her house, from Tim's flat, sure she must have gotten on the train, that she'll be home soon. And he calls her again in the next few days, when he doesn't hear from her, again and again. He doesn't want to call too much, but he wants to… he wants to know she's _okay._ Leaving like this is not like Georgie at all, and… and Jon might not have seen her before she left, but he believes Sasha's account of what happened, believes there was something _wrong._ He keeps leaving messages. Says, I just want to know you're okay, Georgie, _please._ (Tries not to think about the small, dirty mirror, about the boy whose name he's forgotten, who he hadn't even _liked,_ his fingertips disappearing into the lake _…_ ) 

Georgie never calls back. Week after week and she never calls back. After two weeks, Jon stops calling her. 

Three months later— _seven full months_ at the Institute—he gets a letter from her. A note, really, it's short. It says she's sorry. It says she had to get away from here. It says he should leave too. That this is an evil place, and he'll be hurt here, and he needs to leave, to get away before he gets pulled in. 

Jon doesn't write back. He doesn't know what to say. 

\---

Martin isn't actually sure if he still dislikes Jon anymore. 

The longer he's at the Institute, the harder it actually is to actively dislike Jon. It takes Jon a few months to come out of his shell completely, months where Jon is still trying to come off as professional. (He'd stiffened, almost, when they'd went into the house to meet the others; his voice had come out stiffer, too, more formal. Martin remembers now, thinking back to that first day.) Tim was right about the facade, Martin guesses, and it… It takes a while for that to completely go away, but it _does_ go away. Maybe if he were more of a Gertrude, more untouchable and wayward and lock-yourself-alone-in-the-Archives, it would _never_ go away, but… Jon isn't that. He smiles when Tim and Sasha tease him. Basira apparently thinks he's funny. He has to keep asking for help when it comes to navigating the Archives or the Institute in general, because they've all been here for years and he hasn't. He gradually stops tearing the statements apart, at least as much, starts begrudgingly admitting that _some_ of the ones they research are probably pretty accurate. His face does a funny little thing resembling vulnerability when Martin brings him tea. 

(The night Georgie left, Martin thinks, is maybe where it starts. When Tim and Sasha and a very panicked Jon show up on his doorstep and they'd asked for his help looking for Georgie. Jon had been beside himself, nearly at tears by the time they ended up at the train station. They'd ended up sitting on a bench at the station while Tim and Sasha made some calls at the payphones, and Martin had felt horrible not saying anything, sitting there beside Jon clearly being upset. So he'd reached out and put a tentative hand on Jon's arm, said, "Jon, I-I'm so sorry. I… I'm sure she's fine. Really." Jon hadn't said much for a minute, wiped at his eyes hunched halfway over on the bench, and for a minute, Martin thought he was going to say something biting and harsh. But all he'd said was, "T-thank you, Martin. Thanks." Not much at all but it's… Martin doesn't know. It feels different after that. Different.)

After this, nothing much happens. There's nothing much _to_ happen, Martin guesses. Georgie's gone, and within a few days, Jon is more or less back to normal. They work cases, Elias is ominous and never around, Martin and Jon bicker a little, but not quite with the same fervor they used to. And things move on. 

Tim and Sasha and Jon keep having pub nights, and Tim and Sasha keep inviting Martin, and Martin keeps saying no. Says he has to go home to his mum. "That's rubbish," Sasha says, "you used to come out all the time after you'd gone home and checked on her." Tim is a little less delicate, but he presses, too: "Jon won't _bite,_ you know. And if he does, we'll fight him off." Makes a goofy face at the end. 

Martin says, "Ha ha. Really, Tim, it isn't like that," and he keeps on saying no. Until one night, a Friday night, when he goes home and just… _immediately_ gets into it with his mum. _Immediately,_ and he can't stand to be home, so he makes her dinner and then he leaves, walks to the pub to meet them. 

Tim and Sasha are already a little tipsy, which Martin assumes factors into how happy they are to see him. Jon looks a little surprised when they pull Martin over to their table, but not a… bad surprised necessarily? (Martin hopes.) "Martin," he says. "It's, ah, good to see you outside of working hours."

"Yeah, um, you too," Martin says, probably just as awkward as Jon. He stares down at the menu as he slides into the booth. 

"Your mum was all right for the evening?" Sasha asks gently as she slides in next to him. "Or is she already asleep?"

Martin stares harder at the menu, his eyes nearly crossing, and says, "She's… I thought she might want some time alone." And Tim and Sasha know well enough not to press the subject from there. 

The night wears on and Martin gets good and sloshed, sloshed enough to forget everything that happened with Mum. He knows he'll have to face it eventually, but now he just wants to forget. It's easy enough; Tim and Sasha leach a lot of the tension out of the room, and Jon genuinely likes _them,_ even if he doesn't entirely like Martin. And they press enough to make him drop his stuffy work facade or whatever. They play a couple of drinking games that usually get you talking, and Jon's loosened up a lot by the end. Tim's laughing so hard he's nearly bent sideways in the booth, leaning on Jon, and Sasha's voice is thick with teasing as she eggs them all on. Apparently Jon's got a lot of good stories from uni. 

Tim and Sasha get up, eventually, to retrieve more drinks, and then it's just Jon and Martin. Martin automatically sort of looks away, then, not wanting to awkwardly stare at Jon in the silence that follows, and not really expecting there to be conversation—just because he and Jon laughed with their mutual friends doesn't mean that Jon wants to talk to _him._ He isn't actually expecting _Jon_ of all people to break the silence, but that's what Jon does—he says, "So… you, uh… you live with your mum."

Martin tries not to wince, chewing on his lower lip—not Jon's fault he's touched a sore subject, how could he know when he hasn't asked anything personal about Martin since the first day they met. "Yeah, uh… we've got a little house, couple blocks over," he says. "She's, um. She's sick. And there was a fire at the care home a few years ago, and so sh-she lives with me now. I—I take care of her." He's talking too much. He's had too much to drink, and his lips are loose, and Jon doesn't care about this anyway. He shuts his mouth and stares back down into his mostly empty glass.

"Oh. I, uh, I didn't know," says Jon. 

"How _could_ you have?" Martin says before he can stop himself. He instantly regrets it—the least he can do is stop himself from _actively picking fights, again_ —and so he adds, "I-I-I don't talk about it much, I mean."

"R-right," says Jon. They're quiet for a minute; the only sound is the sound of Jon pushing ice around in his drink with his straw. And then he says, in a rushed voice, "My… grandmother died. Three years ago." 

Martin blinks a few times, nodding a little. "I… I'm sorry," he says haltingly. 

"Thank you, it was… i-it was peaceful, but I… she was sick, for a while before… so I…"

Jon swallows hard, meets Martin's eyes awkwardly, and doesn't say anything else. But somehow, Martin thinks he understands. "Yeah," he says, and Jon nods. And then Tim and Sasha come back, and that's more or less the end of it. 

Sasha and Jon sleep over at Tim's at the end of the night—no one is in any condition to make the drive back to the Institute, especially not on the dark country road. Tim offers for Martin to stay too, but Martin insists he can't, as much as he might want to—he needs to get back home and check on his mum. (What if something's happened while he's been gone, what if she's angry that he left?) Tim gives Sasha the key and goes to walk Martin home. ("We can't let you walk back alone, Mart-o," he says. "What if one of the ghosts has followed us from work?" Sasha bursts into giggles and Jon rolls his eyes a little, but there's no heat in it.) 

Sasha hugs Martin goodbye, before he leaves, and tells him to call them if he gets lonely this week, or just needs a break. Jon waves a little from his spot on the stairs, and Martin waves back, awkwardly. Tim takes his arm and they start to turn away, towards Martin's house, but Jon says, "Martin," abruptly before they do. 

Martin turns back around and finds Jon watching him, his face half cast in shadow. "Ah… thanks. For the tea," he says, words fuzzy in the drunken sort of way. 

Sasha mumbles something like _what? What tea? There wasn't any tea tonight, Jon,_ but Martin thinks he understands, all over again. He nods, and says, "You're welcome, Jon," and then he and Tim walk home. 

Things feel different with Jon, after that. Subtly different, but different. Jon points out errors in his reports less, and his chidings come out a little gentler. And he keeps on thanking Martin for the tea. 

\---

One day, a full nine months after Jon arrives, Martin goes to work early. Too early, at the crack of dawn on a Sunday, because he's had a row with his mum and he can't be at home and he just… he _needs_ to get away. (Not to the marsh. Not there. But… somewhere. And the rest of them are there, Sasha and Basira and Jon, and… it's something, it's something.) 

So he goes in. Takes the car, planning to go back for Tim if he needs to, and drives down the country road as the sun pushes its way up the horizon. Pulls it around the long, looping driveway and up to the house. He has a key; he can go and work on that statement that he and Jon have been disagreeing on. He's pulling it out and walking up to the huge front doors when he sees it. Sees _her._ Sasha, stumbling up the long, stony driveway with a hand pressed to her shoulder, shivering in the December chill. She weaves unevenly towards Martin, unsteady on her feet, and as she gets closer, Martin sees the red oozing out from between her fingers. 

" _Christ,_ " Martin hisses, frantic, and he darts forward to steady her. " _Christ,_ Sasha, a-a-are you…"

"M'fine, i-i-it's just… just a flesh wound," Sasha says, pressing a hand to Martin's arm, to steady herself. "Just a flesh wound, just… bleeding like this…" 

"Sit down, Sasha, it's all right, it's… c'mon, c'mon, I have a key. I…" Martin helps her to the door, unlocks it and helps Sasha get to one of the couches. "I-I'll get Jon and Basira."

"Yeah," Sasha says numbly, pressing a hand over her bleeding shoulder. "Y-yeah, you should… I need to make a statement."

Martin pauses, turned towards the stairs, and turns back around, because those words— _I need to make a statement…_ He knows what that means, that this wasn't an accident, or a real person that did this to her, but something… wrong. Something supernatural, something as spooky and bad as everything here at this horrible, haunted Institute. "Sasha, wh-what happened?" he says, gently as he can. "What…"

"Martin, d-d'you remember Michael Shelley?" Sasha asks, waveringly. "Gertrude's assistant. We heard stories about him."

Martin's brow furrows with confusion. "Y-yeah. He… he _died,_ didn't he? In an accident, just before I was hired…"

"Not really," says Sasha. "Or… not _completely,_ Martin. I… I _saw_ him. Just now." Her hand presses harder over her shoulder. 

Martin blinks in surprise at that. "What, l-like a ghost?"

"Uh… no. No, not like that," she says, quietly. 

Martin doesn't ask any more questions. He gets Sasha a glass of water, and then he goes and gets Basira and Jon. Basira patches up her shoulder and Martin makes tea, and then Sasha and Jon go down to the Archives so Sasha can make her statement. 

They listen to the tape later, Basira and Martin. Sasha tells them to. And they hear about it, the whole thing: Sasha reading about a real estate agent who came to look at a house on the property, one that was often rented out to guests, who made a statement about a door that should not have been there, taken in 1983 by Gertrude. Sasha going to the little cottage, abandoned now, nearly half a mile from the Institute, because she couldn't sleep, and she wanted to _know._ Sasha finding the door, the yellow door. Sasha getting lost. Sasha meeting Michael Shelley, a ghost who wasn't quite a ghost, whose hands were sharp like knives. Michael stabbing her in the shoulder. " _He said he took Helen Richardson,_ " she tells Jon, on the tape. " _He took Helen once, and then took her again. Came for her. But he said he wouldn't take me if I didn't come back. He said he wanted to be friends. And he said he wanted to see how things turned out._ "

" _But he hurt you,_ " Jon says, on the tape. " _He said he was your friend and then he hurt you?_ " 

" _It was strange,_ " says Sasha. " _I'm not sure I believed him, a-about being friends. I won't go back. I don't_ want _to go back. Helen Richardson… I don't want to disappear like her._ "

On the tape, Jon's voice is shaking when he says, " _W-we won't let you._ " And Martin is glad to hear that, because it's why he was thinking, too, it's what they _do._

Martin goes up to the kitchen, later, after he's listened to the tape. Sasha's gone back to town with Tim, planning to stay a couple nights at his flat—just for a break, she'd said. Martin is exhausted, having been here since six in the morning, and he wants to make tea. But he finds Jon there, sitting at the table, staring listlessly into a cold mug. 

"Um… Jon?" Martin says, startled and surprised to see him there, and also surprised that Jon hasn't reacted to him coming up. "Are you all right?"

Jon jolts a little, fingers rattling against the mug. "Oh—Martin. I-I didn't hear you come up."

"Sorry, I… didn't mean to startle you," says Martin.

"No, it's all right, you didn't…" Jon sighs. "It's fine, Martin. Don't worry about it."

He still looks horrible, staring blankly into his cup, and Martin can't help but ask—he says, "Jon, are you okay? You… you look horrible…"

"She got hurt because of _me_ ," Jon says sharply. The mug slides loudly against the table top, ceramic against wood. "Because she was investigating a statement alone, that _I_ assigned her."

Martin blinks, maybe shocked, and sits down across from Jon on an instinct. "Jon, it… it wasn't your _fault,"_ he says, incredulous. "I-it could've happened to any of us, it…"

"That doesn't make it _better,_ Martin," Jon says rawly. "That it could've happened to any of us. That doesn't make it _better_."

Martin winces a little, chewing at his lower lip. "I… I-I know. But that doesn't make it your _fault._ "

"She shouldn't have gone alone," Jon says quietly. "She shouldn't have _felt_ like she had to go alone, in the middle of the night, because of pressure from _me…_ "

"Jon, I think Sasha would have done that anyway," says Martin. "I've known Sasha for a while now, she gets _really_ into her work. This could've happened to her whether you were here or not." 

"But it _did_ happen to her when I was here. And I… I'm your boss, I'm supposed to be able to keep my damn _employees_ safe," Jon snaps. 

Martin starts to say something else, but Jon stops him with a raised hand. "Look, Martin, you don't need to—try to make me feel better or whatever. I just wanted to tell you… you don't need to do that." His mouth shuts like a trap. Martin must be staring blankly, must look as incredulous as he feels, because Jon amends, "I… I know I have… put a lot of pressure on you since all of this started, and I… I have been unfair. I'm sorry."

Martin tries not to wince, holds back the urge to ask if Sasha or Tim have said anything and says, "Jon, you don't have to…"

"No, I do. I do," Jon says, sharp. "I do, because… I don't want this to happen to anyone else. To _any_ of you. And I want you to know, Martin, that… you shouldn't do that. R-run off on your own or anything because you think it's what I want, because I… I-I don't want that. I don't want anyone else in danger. And… I'm not going to be as hard on you. On any of you." He takes a sharp breath, looks away from Martin like he is embarrassed and says, quieter, "The Archives aren't more important than your _lives_."

Martin swallows hard, looking down at his feet. Jon says, his voice shaking, "I—I'm just asking that you don't put yourself in unnecessary danger. Especially because you think it's what… _I_ expect. All right? I-I'll say the same to the others. But… I wanted to say it to you."

Martin curls his hand in on itself in his pocket, nails digging into his palm, and makes himself look back up. "Uh… thank you, Jon," he says quietly. "I-I won't. Put myself in unnecessary danger, I mean."

"Good," Jon says quickly, his nails clicking where they hit the mug. "I… good. Good."

Martin looks at the cooling cup that is clearly from hours ago and he adds, "Do you… want some tea? S-some new tea, I mean, something… th-that looks a little old." He adds a little nervous laugh at the end, at a loss for what else to do. 

Jon's face does a funny thing, close to what he usually does when Martin brings him tea. "I… yes. That… that sounds nice. Thank you, Martin."

**Author's Note:**

> the "jon can't make tea" joke is entirely stolen from Bly Manor. (regular canon jon is fine at tea, but he prefers for martin to make it.) 
> 
> thanks for reading!! i have portions of chapter 2 and 3 written, which will hopefully be up soon. you can find me on tumblr @ghostbustermelanieking, where i am losing my mind over the end of season 5, and also occasionally liveblog the writing of this au.


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